


Siege

by maximoffs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:51:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximoffs/pseuds/maximoffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little glimpse into the siege of storm's end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siege

when you first see him he is on his knees over a body, one knuckle between his teeth. you see him before the smell of the dead strikes, before the rest of the garrison comes rushing into your line of sight. before their hands (all bone now) reach for your hands from the walls where they're slumped, groaning for attention, unable to move from starvation. 

you remember, you see him first. 

as a child, you learn history by word of mouth. you meet sailors from king's landing who tell you: this fortress was built by this great conquerer, this battle was won by this great knight. you are more interested in survival, you think. it soon dawns on you that knowledge of your enemies is survival -- their skills, their movements, their gold. uhoris shows you how to swipe a blade from another man without moving a muscle. "magic", he says with a grin, flashing three gold teeth. "if it's magic how am i to learn?" you counter. you will never be a maester. you are barely nine. he laughs. "you will," he says. 

_his_ castle, you learn, the castle of his family, is built on magic. there are spells between the bricks. it's fitting. you think briefly of uhoris and thank him for teaching you how to see. a thief must be creative, you remember -- he must find the gaps in walls, in borders, in people. 

*

when you first see him he is trying to find the strength to eat a man. the others already have, you suspect. there aren't enough bodies lying around. he is gaunt and sharp, as though all the bones of him are trying to find their way out. he looks at you with hatred until you set your bundle down, brimming with onions and salted fish; and then he looks at you with something you can't decipher. 

"i'm davos seaworth, m'lord," you say with as much grace as you can muster. "of the--"

"feed them first," he interrupts.

you don't reply. you've heard a lot about stannis baratheon and his iron manners, but at the moment he just seems like a man who appreciates efficiency. once you've rationed out a bit of food for the troop, you approach him. you hold out an onion.

"how much have you brought?" he asks, without reaching for it.

"it should last you about a month, m'lord."

he turns to you with those terrible eyes. they make you want to raise a shield and defend yourself. 

"fine," he nods.

he is still sitting over the dead man and something possesses you to sit with him, too.

"you should eat, m'lord."

"there isn't enough."

"there's plenty."

"this war will last longer than a month. my men will need--"

"your men will need you alive."

a surge of surprise hits your blood stream. you've never interrupted a lord before. you've never sat cross-legged on the floor of a castle with one, either. if he's as shocked as you are, he doesn't let on. in fact, he seems distantly preoccupied with the body in front of him, as though staring into space. you don't know how his knees haven't begun to ache yet (you're sure they have), and you realize you're still holding an onion. you want to touch him to bring him back, but you haven't lost all semblance of etiquette yet. 

"i almost," he begins, somewhere else. this will become an obsession for him, you realize, this dead man. that's the consequence of war; that's what you have let yourself get dragged into. the ball and chain-shaped ghosts. you have practically melded yourself to these men. "i would have," he tries again. his voice sounds like there's metal or blood in it.

"i would have too, m'lord."

there's no reply. stannis barely notices you're still there until you take his hands and put your only offering in them. 

"you have to eat," you say now. you command a lord and wonder what your wife would say. you think of your wife, as you often do when situations become too cold, too bleak, or too heavy -- her kind eyes and the softness of her hair first thing in the morning. that's where the real magic is; whoever wrote the histories must not have had a warm bed to go home to. you think of your children. here are the things that anchor you, and you cling to them now, shipless.

by the time you remember where you are again, he's finished eating and is looking at you expectantly. you don't know what he wants, and you begin to say so, but he interrupts you by standing up. 

"come on then," he says, drawing his sword. all the blood drains from your face, but he interrupts you again -- this time from your panic -- by resting the blade on a shoulder. "davos of house seaworth," he says softly, and it lands right in your stomach. "in the name of the warrior i charge you to be brave. in the name of the father i charge you to be just."

you hardly remember the rest of the brief ceremony, but you remember rising a knight. it isn't a _real_ ceremony, and there's more to come of course -- stannis's justice, your missing joints, the disdain of highborn lords... your sons most importantly, now with futures of their own, sons who can read and write and make honest names for themselves -- but it's the one that matters. although you hardly remember the words he recites (you know them now by heart), you remember how he says them, the candor of his voice, and the way he tells you to rise. 

it is early, and war generates desperate men. you are not prone to making rash decisions, so you will not assume at this point that this man will become another anchor to you -- though when he does, it comes as no surprise. when situations become too cold, too bleak, too heavy, you think of your family, and you think of stannis baratheon. you wonder what he thought when he first saw you. you never ask.


End file.
